It’s odd how this column came about.  Typically, the ideas generated that end up on paper come in a one-time nirvana moment.  Someone says something, and I take notes, the headline jumps out at me, several examples present themselves, a logical conclusion evolves, and this all gets put down on paper.  A week, two weeks or more intervenes, then I sit down at the computer and re-access the material and commit it to the computer screen.

This also occurs when an event draws my interest, something in the news stands out for a special reason, or a personal incident gets me thinking about the broader implications to society.  In each of these situations though, it’s a one-time deal, and I immediately write key points down or they will be forgotten.

That’s what makes this one a bit different, because last week when I pulled our mail out, there were multiple letters, brochures and flyers for our younger daughter from colleges around the country.  That’s okay.  It’s good to see universities around the country seeking students.

At the same time, the amount of mail we get repeatedly from the same colleges is almost beyond belief.  That makes their materials junk mail, in my opinion.  They need to curtail this because it is a contributing factor to the exponential increase in the cost of higher education the past 30 years or so.

The over-mailing bothered me.  It bothered me so much that I not only captured thoughts on it last week, but as I went back over old notes in my files, there was another entry with almost identical points about the waste of money and paper occurring with repeated recruiting materials distributed to potential incoming freshmen.  Looking over the two notes in the files, it is remarkable how similar my complaints were.   

We have three kids.  This is our last child to look at colleges.  The amount of these repeated mailings has increased with each child.  

Multiply the figures from our family by the number of families with teenagers that are finishing up their senior year in high school, and have the grades and desire to go to college.  Then count how many colleges/universities there are in the country.  Presume they are all promoting their school this way.  That’s a heck of a lot of resources going into brochures and letters that mostly end up in the recycling bin.

When I was a senior in high school, I looked at three schools:  The University of Illinois (which I ended up attending), Purdue University and Bradley University.  My memory says that I also got inquiry letters from Elmhurst, Milliken and Lewis College.  I can’t remember getting a duplicate from any of them.  They sent one invite to come visit their campus and that was it.  

Now, students receive multiple mailings.  How much labor goes into that?  What’s the return rate on the letters?  I don’t have answers, but if most families are like ours, unless your teenager’s curiosity in the college is immediately aroused, they don’t look at any follow-up information.  They either want to go or they don’t.

Our older daughter, for example, got a tremendously well-written, thoughtful and amusing letter from a small Minnesota college that had her seriously thinking (and eventually visiting) about attending.  She did not go there, but the writer of the material had a gift, and drew our daughter’s interest.  More power to the writer who can do that, just don’t send 11 more messages to us over the following 18 months.  That’s overkill.

The cost of higher education is off the maps. Curtail some of these mailings and at least it will be one step to keep those costs in line.  Then we also might think twice about sending our kid to your school.

There are pigs driving and walking through our neighborhood.  I don’t mean the type that snuffle and grunt, their snouts to the ground, rooting for worms beneath the grass.  Though we did have those, too, at one point.

No, I’m using the term in the generic way we do to describe slobs, those people who don’t care about their surroundings and make a mess of things, throwing trash out without thinking about what that does to their surrounding environment.  There are a lot of these pigs in the world, far too many.

We live in what would probably be described as a residential, wooded, clean suburban area, a place where you’d presume people care about how things look.  Not everyone mows their yards regularly.  Grass dies.  Weeds shoot up. 

Still, our neighbors put their garbage out on time.  They keep their houses in decent shape.  It appears there’s an ongoing level of caring.

That’s why what has happened recently across the street from our house surprises, distresses and depresses me.  Our neighbor is renovating, so he has a big dumpster to collect the junk being ripped out so it can properly be hauled off by the big trash collectors.  The huge container has been in their front yard for over a month.

Its appearance seemed to be an invitation to dump.  The first example occurred less than a week after the mammoth blue rectangular receptacle was deposited.  I was working on the computer, occasionally looking outside on another white hot north Texas summer morning.

A pickup truck drove down the block slowly.  The driver paused, flung his fast food bag at the dumpster (not even attempting to make a basket), letting it fall on the burned out yard.  I started to get up to go yell at the guy, but he took off before I could react.  I sat back down, and thought, WTF?

That was only the beginning.  The second dumping I didn’t witness firsthand.  The appliance box appeared one morning.

Someone decided the mini-refrigerator cardboard box delivered from Home Depot didn’t need to go in their household recycling or garbage.  Instead, our neighbor’s yard would do just fine.  It sat out by the curb one morning, just in front of the dumpster, I guess as a signal to others that it was open season on their burned out grass.  “Throw it here, throw it here.”

So, people have.  Rather than using their own containers, the pigs have decided to toss their slop in someone else’s yard.  When you have your own plastic garbage can, what’s the point in bringing it someplace else?  It’s just additional effort to prove you’re a pig.

The most recent case, about two weeks ago, blew me away.  It was Sunday morning, and this was an older couple.  My stereotype is that older people care about their surroundings.  I guess that is inaccurate.

These two pigs, who I have to imagine were on their way to church, decided to stop and make their morning deposit.  I watched, stunned.

The elderly man pulled over.  The elderly woman ever so slowly got out of the passenger side, tied the wrap on her plastic bag (so nice of her to seal it up properly, wasn’t it?) and politely deposited the package in the metal container, then walked delicately back in her high heels.  I hope she prayed for her salvation when she got to church.

Is it laziness?  Is it opportunistic dumping?  Do people just not care?  You’d have to take a poll to find out.

Then you’d learn that some people are just pigs.  Soooooooooo-weeeeeeee.

The best show on TV is “The Last Ship.”  A lot of people will probably disagree.

It began airing during the summer of 2014.  The first season laid a foundation of strong characters, a multi-pronged plot and a believable diverse cast. In its just-completed second season, the show shines even brighter.

Rather than taking the viewer down a path of ever-less-believable scenarios, the writers thoughtfully chose the opposite direction (egads!) – making the storyline more plausible.  That doesn’t happen often on TV, and it’s another powerful reason to give the show a shot if you haven’t already.

But beyond that, there are some deeper, subtle issues playing out on the screen, ones I’m not so sure the casual reader captures.  Certainly, the honor of military service (along with the pain and sacrifice) is readily apparent.  Good people die.  That happens in real life and is reflected in scenes.  People (characters) you care about succumb to violence, the plague or at the hands of stupid, power-mad zealots.  Sounds like some of the things occurring around the globe that we read in the news.

You may not want that type of reality.  But seeing tough, strategic military decisions being made without mincing words and giving full credence to what a ship leader (or the President) has to carry on his conscience opens your eyes just a bit wider than they might otherwise be.

In the first year of the series, the ship is on open seas when a plague eliminates 90 percent of humans around the world.  They search for the cure, and encounter pockets of survivors in various enclaves, some with their own agenda to use their flocks for their select power play.

Pure survival, the loss of families, disconnection from telecommunications, food and fuel all play out during that first season.  It’s raw and intense.

During the second season, when a series often struggles to maintain momentum from the first, “The Last Ship” picked up the character development, the conflicts and intensity.  If anything, the show became more real (and perhaps too much for the viewer who wants to escape from reality rather than see it reflected on the screen).

Deeper evils appeared.  Battles big and small raged.  Submarine and battleship dodged each other, then  engaged with their titanic weapons.

Part of the intrigue is the military engagement – us vs. them, good guys vs. the bad.  You can envision the bad because you see similar actions in countries today, and you hope good prevails.  It mostly does, but not without cost.

Beyond the fighting, there’s a deeper theme at play, one that shows the inclusiveness of the United States and our military, a powerful source of our strength as a nation -- the diversity of the crew on the ship and the entire cast of the show.  The creators took extreme care to bring every segment of our society into the action, and then show their humanity.

It is best encapsulated as season two ended, the ship powering up the Mississippi River to find a new home for the President as the broken and disconnected nation hopes to begin anew.  They chose St. Louis because of its central location, but the climactic scene demonstrates the location is more than that.

Every race and background is together.  Old hug young.   Kids shake hands with the captain.  Women and men embrace. Americans of every ethnic background intermingle, touching, kissing, connecting. The cure is thus shared.

You can’t help but think of nearby Ferguson, MO, and how a message is being delivered by this scene:  That the many backgrounds of U.S. citizens are a source of our strength, as they should be.

I am not a Google Analytic.  I refuse to be.

The software world increasingly tries to define, segment and classify us by the web pages we visit, what we click, the goods we purchase. They capture this data and figure out what you will do next.

Businesses use this information to send electronic messages your way and make web sites pop up miraculously with products that you have previously used or that are similar to ones you’ve purchased online.  It’s part of an increasing attempt by analytical tools to turn you into a machine driven by your online activities.

But we are human beings.  We cannot be broken down into components this way.

A couple of weeks ago, I was at a business session and the subject of my web site came up.  The discussion centered on how to use your online presence to bring customers your way.  It got lively as attendees brought up the different ways to quantify what they offered, and how to make sure that information was spliced in a way that drove potential customers to their web site.

All this was premised on the concept that people want to have their data chopped and dissected to create more customer activity.  That’s not true though.  Not everyone wants that.

My web site, for example, is designed to be fun and readable.  I share my column, a Bad Golf blog, a cooking blog, a weekly chuckle and offer my services if someone needs a professional writer for any of their business needs.  I’m glad if someone finds me through my web site.  But it’s not imperative, nor is that a driver on why I post what I do or structure how the pages are organized.

I do not want to be defined, broken down and segmented through key words and by Search Engine Optimization (SEO).  Many people though seem to think that “optimization” is the only way to look at your online world:  You must optimize yourself.

I disagree. If we keep going down that path, what’s left of human creativity, ingenuity and our unique individual natures?  If everything about our personalities is put into a box, then why even get out of bed in the morning?  The analytics will predict what you do, so why even act?

If we get broken down into predictable chunks of consumer data, what’s left of our human qualities?  If that’s all that we care about, no one would ever go out and meet someone for lunch, have a conversation, share information, because the analytics would tell us everything beforehand.

My web site is there to share, give people some fun things to read.  Every site doesn’t have to sell you something or make you well-known or come up first in SEO. It’s enough to just “be,” and let others find you, and if they enjoy what you have to share, then hey, you can jointly take things from there and see what happens next in life.

Not conforming to optimization is a way to keep spontaneity alive in your personal and professional universe.  Grabbing a beer or a burger with a friend sure is fun, but it’s not going to raise your profile online.

Google Analytics cannot quantify us.  They can try, but they will fail because the human spirit is way more than about words, purchasing patterns and data.